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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27212068">Never Alone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77'>cat_77</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant Injuries, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Post-Episode: s01e11 Alone Time, canon compliant past character death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:08:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,267</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27212068</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gil makes a discovery in the aftermath of Bright’s valiant self-rescue from Watkins.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Malcolm Bright &amp; team</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>107</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Never Alone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was supposed to be fluffy. I kinda failed at that.</p>
<hr/>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bright was in the ICU.  The doctors said it was precautionary, and that he would be moved to a standard room once his levels evened out, for whatever that meant.  He was safe, if not sound.  Gil told himself it was enough, but even he didn’t believe the lie.</p>
<p>Watkins was in custody for as much as he wasn’t moving.  The crowbar and the hairline fracture of his skull told a story all of its own.  He was in a secure medical facility in decidedly not the same hospital where Gil stood now.  The few times that he had roused, he had mumbled about not wanting to go back to the dark, and then passed out again.  The fact that he was immobile and now sedated meant nothing.  The fact that he was locked down and as far as Bright as they could currently manage meant everything.</p>
<p>Gil ran a hand over his face and then raised his head enough to take stock of the man laid out before him.  Machines monitored his heart and his lungs and everything else.  There was the quiet whoosh of the oxygen mask placed atop the too pale face that was surely too lax to be the ever-animated Malcolm Bright.  The surgery to fix the damned stab wound had gone well though he was on some seriously strong antibiotics for the time being.  The cesspool of a bloodstained room they had found in the tunnels beneath the house more than warranted that.  His left hand was immobilized and raised via some fancy contraption, but not yet casted as they were waiting for some of the swelling to go down and completion of the inevitable surgery that would follow first.</p>
<p>Broken.  The hammer left in the tacky mess next to the bolted ring where he was likely tethered.  Meaning the damned kid had probably done it to himself to break free.  Something Gil doubted he’d have the stomach to do himself but, then again, there wasn’t a serial killer with a literal axe going after his own family so maybe he shouldn’t judge the extreme measures taken in what could have been a vain attempt to save them all.</p>
<p>Minutes.  Officer Lawrence took Jessica’s statement from Ainsley’s bedside.  Given the state of the room, the broken-down door, the fancy desk that had been pushed up against it.  Lawrence estimated mere minutes, if even that, before Watkins had gotten through to the safe haven Jessica had tried to create for herself and her daughter.  But Bright had freed himself, climbed up out of the tunnels and the basement and everything else with a stab wound and broken hand and who knew what else, and taunted the serial killer to leave his prize for another.  And then he actually managed to incapacitate a man easily twice his size that was armed with more than a crowbar and wasn’t fighting blood loss and starvation.</p>
<p>“Stubborn doesn’t begin to describe you, does it?” he asked the air around him.  </p>
<p>Only the steady beep of the machines replied.</p>
<p>He took it as it meant Bright was alive and not in distress, at least not physically and not at the moment.  Probably not mentally either, not yet with the amount of drugs being pumped into him.  Gil stood and stretched and knew he’d probably have to go home eventually, that it was Jessica’s sway that allowed him to stay this long as it was, but he flat out refused to leave until he knew the next watch had arrived.  Even then, he’d probably be tempted to stay until the kid opened his eyes.  They estimated another two to three hours for that, which meant he needed something to keep him going until then.</p>
<p>He poked his head out of the glass-walled room and tried to smile at the nurse stationed at the desk situated centrally enough to see as much of the ward as possible despite each patient being assigned a nurse of their own atop that.  He headed left, and actively pushed away the thoughts of the last time he was in this ward in this hospital.  The coffee had been burnt and bitter on his tongue when he watched Jackie take her final breaths but he would take the caffeine content of that sludge if it meant the chance to be awake when the time came.</p>
<p>Only the tiny station with the too small pot that was permanently stained around the edges wasn’t there.  A small counter with fake flowers and pamphlets about counseling services available stood in its place.  Maybe the nurses had decided they got more peace to do their jobs if the families needed to go home to rest.  He knew he had to have annoyed the crap out of the very patient women and men the last time he was here, and was likely on his way to doing the same now.</p>
<p>“Are you looking for some coffee?” a kind woman in scrubs with a nametag that said “Courtney” asked him.  At his nod, she smiled knowingly.  “The nook is down the hall to your right.  It’s outside the ward but you can come back once you’re done.  We don’t want to risk the liquids with all of the equipment.”</p>
<p>He thanked her and headed that way, quietly contemplating what other changes had been made in the past few years.  Already, the chair he had been given was about a thousand times more comfortable but he had actually assumed Jessica was at play with that.  Or he did until be passed other rooms and found similar setups there as well.  Hell, one had an actual lounger with what he assumed was a loved one stretched out in it, sound asleep and draped in a blanket.</p>
<p>He let the door slide soundlessly shut behind him, waved to Lewis and O’Neil from the 1-6 that were stationed there, and easily found the little nook that she had mentioned.  It wasn’t that little, honestly.  There were three couches and a handful of overstuffed chairs lit by the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked a park.  There were flowers that were fresh but nearly scentless next to magazines and boxes of tissues and even coloring books and a handful of other things he brushed over in his want for caffeine.  Against the wall, furthest from the windows, was a self-serve area replete with disposable biodegradable cups and a fancy machine that made everything from coffee as black as midnight to lattes and mochas and everything in between.  There was a separate box full of a variety of teas and several plates of prepackaged cookies beside it.</p>
<p>He set his cup and pushed in his selection and let the machine work its magic while his eyes wandered about the rest of the room.  It wasn’t until he turned to pick up his now full cup that he saw it.  The hot liquid sloshed against his hand when he put the cup shakily down and whispered a curse.</p>
<p>“You okay, boss?” Dani asked.  “Didn’t mean to startle you.”  JT stood at her side, phone out and still open to the text that said where to find him.</p>
<p>He had forgotten that they were coming.  Of course they would, they were part of the rotation that they had worked up amongst themselves in spite of the actual uniformed patrols also put in place, but his mind had wandered far too much and he had lost track of time.  Maybe it had been more than the need for caffeine that had sent him on his way, his body’s innate sense of knowing where it needed to be and when playing a role.  He had told them to meet him at the door to the unit, but they would have been directed here by Lewis and/or O’Neil.</p>
<p>“I’m good,” he insisted.  He grabbed a napkin and dabbed at his hand and then at the few little droplets that had fallen onto the counter.  His eyes traced back up to the little brass plaque on the wall and he shook his head.  “No, I’m not,” he amended with a telling sniff.</p>
<p>“Bright?  Is he…” Dani started to ask, but couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought.</p>
<p>“He’s fine.  No, he’s not, but he’s no worse off than he was an hour ago.  Broken hand, healing stab wound, malnourished and dehydrated, and pain in my ass.”  He had started strong, but trailed off to a near whisper by the end.</p>
<p>“Boss?” JT asked, a thousand questions in a single word.</p>
<p>Instead of answering, he gestured to the plaque.  The decorative brass was affixed atop some ornate wood and declared the area the <b>J. Arroyo Memorial Coffee Nook</b>.  Beneath that declaration was the dedication that read: “She always had a warm cup and a warmer smile, no matter what the hour.”  In smaller, barely noticeable print across the very bottom was added: “A gift of the Bright Foundation.”</p>
<p>JT leaned forward to take a look at the plaque before he rocked back on his heels and muttered, “What an asshole.  Never told you, did he?”</p>
<p>“Not a damn word,” he replied.  He swiped at his eyes knowing neither one of them would call him on the display of emotion at this of all times.</p>
<p>Dani stepped up and pushed the cup of coffee into his hands before she set about making herself a cup of tea.  “Last time I checked in with the youth group my dad used to volunteer with, I saw they had a bunch of new swag.  Anonymous donation, the director said.  Traced it back, then traced that back.  Want to guess the source?”</p>
<p>She offered the cup she made to JT, who shook his head and started punching buttons on the coffee machine instead.  “He was asking questions about the Wounded Warrior groups in the area and the PTSD stuff they do after I told him he should try an actual adult doc to talk to about some of the stuff he’s been through a few weeks ago.  Why do I have the feeling there’ll be another ‘anonymous’ donation there, too?”</p>
<p>“Oh, so that’s where that went,” a new voice mused.  Jessica Whitly, looking a little worse for wear, managed to still walk primly into the area, the intricately woven wrap she wore draped about her shoulders doing a poor job of covering the bloodstains on her silk blouse.  “He asked if there were caps on the donation processes and I had our attorney look into it.  We planned on splitting the difference, if they would not object to the Whitly name on a donation.  The universe knows we know all about PTSD in this family.”</p>
<p>Dani started to make her a cup of something while JT perused the cookies and made muttered remarks under his breath almost too quietly to hear, though most were profane anyway.  Gil took the opportunity to ask, “Did you know?”</p>
<p>Jessica looked confused for a moment before her gaze landed on the wood and brass.  “Oh, that turned out nicely,” she commented.  She took the cup from Dani and breathed in the scent more than actually sipped at the steaming liquid before she answered.  “The Bright Foundation is three years old.  It is technically separate from any Whitly charities, though sourced from family funds.  His share, of course.  He’s new to this, but trying his best.”</p>
<p>“He never said a word,” he admitted.</p>
<p>Jessica blinked.  “Of course not, that’s not his way,” she said.</p>
<p>“I’m going to have a long discussion with that kid when he wakes up,” Gil promised her.</p>
<p>She smiled, just a fleeting quirk of her lips.  “And he will nod and pretend to listen and do it his own way anyway.  He’s been like this for decades; don’t think you can change him now.”</p>
<p>“Why not tell us?  Why not take the credit?” Dani asked.  Gil noticed that she had added Bright’s amount of honey to her cup and wondered if she realized it, or if she needed the extra sugar to keep her going.</p>
<p>“He wants to be there for you, but doesn’t want you to think he’s just throwing money at a problem to make it go away,” Jessica explained.  “He knows you won’t accept a pity donation – he thinks far too highly of all of you for that – so he figured out something else instead.  He doesn’t believe in ‘buying friends’ or any such nonsense but knows it could be seen that way.  He’s had far too many people abuse his resources in the past.  But he likes you, trusts you, and wanted to do something to help a cause you believe in.  It’s really as simple as that.”</p>
<p>“Not that simple,” Gil managed to get out.</p>
<p>Jessica laid a hand on his arm and shrugged.  “For him?  It really is.”</p>
<p>Gil let his team have their time to visit with Bright while he mulled over the recent revelations.  Bright had been there for him, and continued to be there for him, even when he knew precisely nothing about just what he was doing and how.  He resolved then and there that he was going to make sure the kid knew he was there for him as well, all of them were, during what was sure to be a long recovery.  Whether he liked it or not.</p>
<p>He wasn’t alone.  He wouldn’t be alone.  Not through this.  None of them would.  Because, that was kind of the purpose of friends in the first place, wasn’t it?</p>
<p>“And, just like trouble, you’ve got ‘em in spades, kid.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30187452">[Podfic] Never Alone</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Static_Whisper/pseuds/Static_Whisper">Static_Whisper</a>
    </li>
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